


someone asked me what home was

by kathillards



Category: Kamen Rider Gaim
Genre: Fix-it fic, M/M, Post Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 23:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10819014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathillards/pseuds/kathillards
Summary: “Of course we stayed.” Kouta Kazuraba has always been a remarkable person, but never more so than now, his smile bright enough to be blinding even as he speaks of his own mortality. “We make our own fate. That’s what makes us human.”(After the battle of Zawame, Takatora figures he should finally go to a dance show, for once. And maybe a few more, just to make sure he likes them.)





	someone asked me what home was

**Author's Note:**

> wasn't really happy with the way gaim ended... so i rewrote it. slightly. tried to make some sense of the character arcs and themes and such.
> 
> there is background kaito/mai in this (although his ending remains the same). also mentions of canon character deaths.

**someone asked me what home was  
(and all i could think of was you)**

.

He doesn’t really believe it, at first.

Not that it’s over – that, he had expected, had known that if he woke up, it would be to a different world. Not even the fact that his brother is at his bedside – he had hoped for that, dreamed it, even, in those moments he spent drifting in the water. Prayed for Mitsuzane to find his way back where he belongs.

No, what Takatora doesn’t believe, can’t believe is how normal they look. All of them, but most especially his brother’s friends. Most especially…

“Kazuraba,” he says when the man in question walks into his hospital room, two days after he’d woken up. “You look… normal.”

Indeed, Kouta does look normal, perhaps even more normal than he had when Takatora had seen him last, struggling with losing his humanity and not able to eat human food. Then, he had been wrecked – by betrayal, by power, by the growing threat of apocalypse around them.

Now, he looks – content. A little sad around the edges. And utterly human, standing at Takatora’s bedside in a green flannel shirt and jeans, his hair windblown and messy, hands in his pockets and a smile on his face as he surveys Takatora’s bettering health.

His smile is so bright. Kouta looks genuinely happy to see him alive. Takatora isn’t sure why this is news, but it feels nice to know at least one other person in this city didn’t hate him.

“How are you feeling?” Kouta asks, voice soft. His brow furrows when he takes in the wires and machines all around to monitor his condition.

Takatora shifts, restless, suddenly. He wants to get up, walk around, shake Kouta’s hand, thank him for everything – decades of training in how to be well-mannered gathering dust around him as he sits here, unable to do anything except stare.

“Better,” he says, his own voice a little hoarse. He hadn’t spoken much – Mitsuzane sits at his bedside every day and can’t find any words, and Takatora doesn’t want to press him. The doctors mostly talk _at_ him. “They said – it was a miracle.”

He laughs, and it fades out into a sigh. “A miracle I was even alive when they found me.”

A miracle he didn’t deserve.

Kouta chews on his bottom lip. The gesture is distracting enough that Takatora forgets to ask after him, before he says –

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Takatora blinks at him, words lost. Kouta’s eyes brighten and he leans in, closer.

“Micchy doesn’t know I’m here. But I wanted to tell you… we’re gonna help him. I know you must worry about him when he’s not here, but Mai and I – we keep an eye on him. We won’t let him drift away again.”

Kouta smells nice, he thinks briefly. Like fresh air and orange trees.

“Thank you,” Takatora says, genuinely warmed by the sentiment, that Kouta had taken the time out to visit him. Most of his stress since learning the world had been saved is about his brother’s wellbeing. “I appreciate that. How is he doing out there?”

Here, Kouta’s smile falls, a little. “I mean, he doesn’t really talk to us. Can’t, I guess. But we see him around. He comes to our dance shows, but never close to the stage. Doesn’t even step foot near the garage.”

“Is that… progress?” Takatora asks carefully. He knows he’d been in a coma for a while between the almost apocalypse and where everyone is now. The doctors tell him it’s been a little over two months, although it feels years away from the Zawame of old.

“Yeah,” Kouta says with that easy grin. “We used to have to track him down. Mai sat him down and talked to him once, and ever since then, we see him nearby sometimes. Like he wants to join, but can’t bring himself to ask.”

Takatora nods, his mind latching onto one detail that has nothing to do with his brother. “You still dance?”

Kouta laughs, runs a hand through his hair. So casual and boyish, Takatora can almost forget this man had once wielded the power of gods. “Well, yeah. Zawame needs hope, after everything that happened. Normalcy. Mai says that as long as it makes people happy, she’ll never stop dancing.”

He’s mentioned Mai a few times now, so Takatora asks, “You and Mai… are you – ”

Kouta tilts his head. Takatora stops, because it’s better to be silent than to fumble your words, and he has no idea how to phrase the question. _Are you dating the girl my brother nearly destroyed the world to get?_

It would probably come across badly. Not the least because – there’s a part of him that doesn’t really want the answer to be _yes_ , for some reason. Not because he thinks Mitsuzane deserves a chance with her, either, but just because…

“Are you both leading the dance team?” is what he finally settles on, cringing a little when he says it. It must be intensely obvious that he has no clue how the dance teams work.

Kouta smiles at him, though, and that eases the embarrassment a little. “Yeah, I guess so. More her than me. She loves dancing. I’m just helping with the clean-up. I dance with them, though, because…”

Here, he fades, gaze drifting past Takatora and to the window behind him, where the sky is blue over a slowly-rebuilding Zawame City. Takatora wonders what he sees, out in the city he had tried so desperately to protect, finally free of monsters.

“Because if you don’t dance, it’ll have been for nothing,” Takatora finishes for him, softly. He swallows against the memories – remembering a very different time, not so long ago, when he’d looked at Kouta Kazuraba and sneered, discarded him as _street trash_ , unfit for the job of protecting humanity that he had given himself.

The world sure had a way of proving him wrong. Kouta had turned out to be a better fit for the position of _savior_ than Takatora ever had.

It’s not resentment that builds in him now, though, but gratitude.

Kouta beams when he looks at Takatora again. “Exactly! Hey, you should stop by sometime. When you’re out of here, I mean. We all use the main stage in the square now. Maybe if he sees you there, Micchy might talk to us.”

“I… will consider it,” Takatora says, hesitant. He has no idea when he’s going to get out of here, or what he’s going to do when he does – go back to Yggdrasil and try to reform it, had been his only plans so far. And Mitsuzane – he has to take care of his brother.

Anything beyond that… the future had been so nebulous once, and now it seems too vast.

“Cool,” Kouta says with that same easy grin, tucking his hands back into his pockets. “Well, I should get going. I don’t know if, uh, if you want me to come back but – ”

“Yes,” Takatora says, probably too quickly. He pauses, embarrassed, and reigns himself in to amend, “Yes, I – I don’t get much company, these days. Apart from my brother. If you have any news, I would – I would be grateful, to hear it.”

Especially if it was Kouta bearing the news. He had a way of making everything sound better, easier to face, less impossible.

Kouta grins at him. “Alright,” he agrees. “I’ll see you, Takatora.”

He lifts one hand up to wave at him before turning and heading out of the hospital room, and Takatora can’t help but think as he stare after him, that Kouta might only make everything feel less impossible by being so impossible himself.

.

True to his word, Kouta comes back, and this time, he comes bearing magazines, newspapers, and –

“Is that a Charmant cake?” Takatora asks, eyeing the box that Kouta carefully sets up on the tray table attached to his bed.

“Yeah, Oren made it for free,” Kouta says with a laugh, opening up the box so Takatora can see the cake inside. “When I told him I was visiting you, he said he _must_ make a masterpiece for his precious melon.”

Takatora coughs, feeling faintly warm. Kouta only seems amused as he produces forks and plates from his bag and cuts off a slice for him.

“He’s a good man,” Kouta continues, thankfully shifting the subject away from Oren’s crush on him. “He helped a lot, in the final battle.”

“I’m glad,” Takatora says, accepting the slice of – it looks like buttermilk cake, with white frosting and, naturally, melons on top, “that you kids had an adult to help you out.”

He pause to take a bite of the cake – delicious, of course – and Kouta looks at him in confusion, so he clarifies, “Since the rest of the adults in this city failed you all so badly.”

“Ah,” Kouta says, an odd look passing over his face. Takatora glances away, unwilling to be caught analyzing every line of Kouta’s face, the angles and the warmth, how nice he looks when he’s smiling. “That was – you didn’t fail us, Takatora.”

He slants him a look, knowing his incredulity is obvious. “I failed my brother, and then I failed you trying to stop him. And this city… I was supposed to protect it.”

“You did what you could,” Kouta says, frowning a little, and leans closer like that will make his words impress more. “If you want to play the blame game, I should have stopped that fight. I should’ve gotten there faster, so Micchy couldn’t kill you. I knew – I _knew_ it would wreck him if he did. And I failed you both.”

Takatora opens his mouth, then closes it. “I see your point,” he admits finally. “No blame game, then. Thank you for the cake.”

Kouta’s face lightens almost instantly. “Yeah, of course. It’s really good, right? And I got you all the newspapers and stuff from the months you missed, so you can catch up. Oh, and I spoke with your doctor, and she thinks you’re healing very quickly. Might even be out of here in a few weeks.”

Takatora stares at him, amazed. “You – they told you that? Did you tell them you were family or something?” As far as he knows, the doctors only keep him and Mitsuzane in the loop regarding his health. Of course, there’s nobody else for him now.

“Nah,” Kouta says with a shrug. “Just said we were friends. I think everything is in too much disarray for them to be super strict, you know? If everyone has people that care about them, that’s what matters, right?”

“Right,” Takatora says, although the word _friend_ rolls around in his head the whole time Kouta speaks. “Are – we’re friends, then?”

Part of him hates how hopeful he sounds – like being friends with Kouta Kazuraba is something that matters to him now. But he can’t deny that it is.

“Of course,” Kouta says, like he’s surprised the question was even asked. “Of course we are. You’re – ” Here, he pauses, struggling for words. “You have no idea… how glad I was, when I heard you were alive. Because Micchy…”

Takatora glances down at the cake rather than look into Kouta’s honest, open face. “For Mitsuzane,” he suggests. “Because you wanted him to have his brother back.”

“No,” Kouta says, fierce enough to startle him. “I mean, yes, but – but, no. Not just that.”

There’s something hovering in the air between them, a quiet kind of electricity, and Takatora can’t – or doesn’t want to – break it. He looks up to see Kouta still staring at him, brow slightly furrowed, like he’s trying to work something out and it’s eluding him.

Takatora knows that feeling all too well, so he speaks before Kouta again. “I apologize. I wasn’t speaking from a place of resentment. I am – I’m grateful, for everything you’ve done for me. For my family, and for this city. And…”

“I care about you,” Kouta interrupts, eyes bright and face earnest. Takatora’s mouth clamps shut of its own accord. “ _You_ ,” he adds, very carefully, like he wants to impress this sentiment onto Takatora’s soul. “Not just for Micchy. You believed in me, you saved my life.”

Takatora manages a wry grin, even though his heart is pounding. “I also tried to kill you once, if memory serves correctly.”

Kouta laughs, the tension deflating. “I think everyone’s tried to do that.”

“I do apologize for that, for what it’s worth,” Takatora says, and holds up a hand when Kouta starts to protest again. “For that, and for everything else. When I get out of here… I’m going to make Yggdrasil legitimate. To help rebuild the city. I owe it – you – everyone that much.”

Kouta swallows back whatever he’d been about to say and nods. “Well, I’ll be there to help,” he says, meeting Takatora’s gaze with enough solemnity to prove that he’s serious. “Whatever you need. Just give me a call.”

Takatora’s lips twitch. “I don’t believe I have your number.”

Of course, it would be easy enough to look him up – Yggdrasil has a formidable directory of the city that should still be in tact – but then he wouldn’t get to see the way Kouta jumps to find a piece of paper and a pen to write his number down for him.

.

“I hear Kouta’s been by here.”

Takatora glances up at his brother. Mitsuzane looks better lately, some of the color returning to his face, less sallow and fragile-looking. He smiles and, tentatively, a mirror of the gesture ghosts across Mitsuzane’s face.

“Yes, he’s visited a few times. Dropped these off for me,” he says, gesturing to the newspapers he’s been poring over since Kouta had given them to him.

Mitsuzane nods and drops into his usual seat by Takatora’s bedside. “How… how is he doing?”

Takatora pauses, weighing his words carefully. He can hear the desperation, the loneliness behind his brother’s quiet question, how badly he wants to be Kouta’s friend again. He can’t blame Mitsuzane – Kouta Kazuraba is magnetic, and to not be in his circle is to have the constant feeling you’re missing out on something. Especially these days, with the rebuilding effort.

“He looks well,” he says at last. “Happy and healthy. He talks about you a lot.”

Mitsuzane’s eyes dart to him, sharp and disbelieving. “He does?”

“Of course he does,” Takatora says, aiming for gentleness. “He still considers you his friend. Did you think he didn’t?”

“He shouldn’t,” mutters Mitsuzane, gaze drifting off to the window. Takatora wonders if his brother sees a very different city than Kouta Kazuraba does. “None of them should.”

“Perhaps,” Takatora says. “But the fact remains that they do. Have you spoken with them?”

“Just Mai,” Mitsuzane admits. “I had to… apologize to her.”

Takatora raises his eyebrows. “And not to Kouta?”

Mitsuzane rubs a hand across his face. “Of course I have to apologize to him,” he snaps, and Takatora blinks, taken aback by his brother’s first display of any passionate emotion since the relief he’d shown when Takatora had first awoken. “I just don’t know – I can’t.”

“Can’t apologize, or can’t talk to him?”

Mitsuzane shakes his head, and meets Takatora’s gaze with burning intensity. “Did he tell you? What happened to him, what happened in the finale battle?”

“I…” Actually, he hadn’t. Takatora hadn’t asked, not wanting to press, but Kouta hadn’t volunteered the information at all. Like he didn’t want to talk about it – or talk about it with him, maybe. “No.”

Mitsuzane nods, slowly. “I wasn’t there,” he says in response to Takatora’s unasked question. “Not for the final battle. That was between Kouta and Kaito.”

His eyes widen. Kaito Kumon… and not the Overlords. Not Ryoma Sengoku. Not even Mitsuzane. And now that he thinks about it, he has no idea what happened to Kaito Kumon. It hasn’t been in any of the newspapers he’s read so far.

“What happened?”

“Kaito died.” The words are blunt, apathetic, but Takatora catches the hint of emotion on his brother’s face – the pain. “I don’t know… what happened, exactly, but he died. And then everything was just gone. And Kouta and Mai… they loved him, you know.”

He hadn’t known – or not really. He’d been so above the interpersonal drama of the Beat Riders, the guinea pigs. Hadn’t cared at all about Kouta Kazuraba and Kaito Kumon unless they were fucking up his grand plans. And Mai – his brother would have burned the city to the ground for this girl, and yet he barely knew what she looked like.

God, what had he been doing, all this time? Sitting in an ivory tower while his castle crumbled.

“I see,” Takatora says, for lack of anything else to say.

“They loved him,” Mitsuzane repeats, gazing out the window. “And he died, and I didn’t.”

“Ah,” Takatora breathes. So, that’s the problem. “Was his death… did you have something to do with it?” He hates to ask, but given everything that happened…

Mitsuzane snorts, but he doesn’t seem offended. “Not directly. But… I let the Overlords into the city. I _helped_ Redue. Everything that happened to Kaito, to Kouta and Mai after that… it was my fault. It was all my fault.”

Takatora won’t say it out loud, but he’s glad to see his brother finally expressing some guilt. “I know it’s difficult, but you have to forgive yourself for surviving, Mitsuzane. Kaito, Kouta, and Mai made their own choices.”

A dry smile crosses Mitsuzane’s face. “Kaito, Kouta, and Mai,” he repeats wonderingly. “Always them.”

“Always – what?”

Mitsuzane glances at him. “I did – I did so much, you know. Clawed my way up into being a player in this fight. And yet, I never actually was. It was always the three of them. If I hadn’t been so blinded – so stupid – I would have seen it earlier. Kaito and Mai… Kouta and Mai…”

The words _Kouta and Mai_ strike him oddly, but Takatora ignores it.

“Kaito and Kouta,” Mitsuzane finishes with a bitter laugh, leaning back in his chair. “I was never even a player. I thought I would fight Kouta for Mai but… it was him. Of course it was him. How did I not see it?”

“You realize,” Takatora says carefully, “that Mai is not an object to be won.”

This seems to break the spell that’s hanging over Mitsuzane, and he blinks up at Takatora. “Yes, I – I mean, yes. I know. I just meant – I never stood a chance. Not compared to Kouta, not even compared to Kaito Kumon. And I was so angry when I realized – and then he was just gone.”

He thinks he gets it now. “And you had nowhere to put that anger.”

“Nowhere – nobody,” Mitsuzane says. “I couldn’t be mad at Kouta anymore. I could never be mad at Mai. And Kaito… he loved her. Probably better than I did.”

There’s a pause, and then Mitsuzane adds, “Anyone would love her better than I did.”

Takatora notes the past tense. “Is that the part that hurts?” he guesses.

Mitsuzane nods, pressing his face into his hands. “Looking at Kouta and knowing that he’d done everything to save the world, to save Mai, and all I’d done was fuck up her life. Knowing that they had both lost Kaito because of everything I did.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit,” Takatora suggests lightly. “From what I remember of Kaito Kumon… he was more than capable of making his own bad decisions.”

This garners him a laugh, slight but still a victory. “He was. And he did. But he did love her. And Mai seems so – so sad now. She puts on a good face, but I can see it, in her dancing.”

Takatora’s brow furrows. “Does she not – she and Kouta – ”

Mitsuzane shakes his head, and a knot in Takatora’s chest untangles. “They’re not together, if that’s what you mean. I don’t know what went down at the final battle – they won’t say exactly what happened. Kouta won, but they’re not dating, so…”

Again, Takatora can’t help but point out, “Probably because Mai is not a prize for him.”

Mitsuzane exhales heavily and slumps back in his chair. “I’m glad you’re awake,” he says, lips twitching in an almost-smile. “But I sure didn’t miss the lectures.”

Takatora smiles at him. “I’m glad you’re talking to me enough to be annoyed by my lecturing,” he admits.

 “Me, too,” Mitsuzane admits. The hint of a smile broadens, just a little.

.

His first day after being discharged from the hospital is spent mostly in solitude, although his brother helps him get settled back into their house.

It all seems so big and empty now – it always had been, but Takatora feels smaller now, than he had before the war. Less a god walking on top of the world and more just a man, stepping into a house that had never really been a home.

Mitsuzane leaves for school, and Takatora wanders the house for an hour before finally gathering the courage to pick up his phone and dial a number he’s long since memorized.

“Hello?” Kouta’s voice is bright as ever. It sends a rush of warmth through Takatora that he doesn’t want to think about.

“Is this Kouta Kazuraba?” he asks, even though he knows it is, he’d recognize that voice. “This is – ”

“Takatora,” Kouta interrupts with delight. So, he recognizes his voice, too. “I was wondering when you’d call. Is everything all right at the hospital?”

“Actually, I’m out of the hospital,” Takatora tells him, sitting down in his old favorite armchair. “I was discharged last night.”

“Really?” Kouta sounds far more thrilled than even his brother had been. Of course, Mitsuzane had practice in hiding his emotions and Kouta… definitely did not. “That’s great! How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Takatora says, a small smile curving his lips. The warmth from Kouta’s _Hello?_ lingers still. “Much better than I was. I still have a few days of bedrest, but… the doctors said I can resume my life.”

He doesn’t think about how _resuming my life_ includes calling Kouta first chance he gets.

“Awesome,” Kouta says, and he can hear the beam in his voice. “That’s – that’s so great. Does that mean you’ll come by our dance show any time soon?”

Takatora has to stop himself from smiling. It’s ridiculous, how infectious Kouta Kazuraba’s joy is. “I was considering it. What time are they held, usually?”

“They go from 3 to 6, every day in the town square,” Kouta tells him, rattling off the information like – like he’s been practicing it. “All the teams take turns performing. Gaim usually goes around 4 and then there’s a big group number at the end.”

“I see,” Takatora says, filing that away. “Like I said, they recommended a few days of bedrest before I go back to work, so – ”

“No, yeah, no rush,” Kouta says quickly. “Not at all. We’d love to have you, is all. And, I mean, you’re welcome to come by the garage any time. Or Bandou’s – we all hang out there, still. I’m sure Oren would love if you stopped by Charmant.”

Takatora purses his lips together to hide his smile. Kouta was trying to invite him into their group – his obvious effort is as endearing as it was kind.

“I would love to,” he admits. “I’ll see when I can. Have you spoken to Mitsuzane lately?”

“Not yet.” Kouta immediately sounds saddened. Takatora regrets bringing it up, but Kouta brightens quickly. “But he’s still around. He smiled at me the other day when I saw him at the show so… I think that’s progress.”

“It is,” Takatora assures him. “For Mitsuzane that is – that’s good. I’m glad. I’ll try to talk to him more.”

“Thanks,” Kouta says, earnest as ever. “I appreciate it. I’ll see you soon?”

“Soon,” Takatora agrees, and the word feels as warm as he imagines Kouta’s current smile to be.

.

His brother is right about Mai.

Kouta isn’t in this dance number, so Takatora pays attention to her instead. She smiles, bright and beautiful, moves gracefully through all the moves, laughs and hugs her friends at the end but – there is something sad, lingering around her.

It takes him a minute to realize it’s the same sort of quiet sadness that lingers around Kouta. He hides it well enough, as does she, but it’s not hard to spot if you know what you’re looking for. If you knew them, before the battle.

Of course, he never really knew Mai. He would like to rectify that – she’s important to his brother, misguided as Mitsuzane might have been in his love for her, and she’s important to Kouta, so he steps up to the edge of the stage to see her when Gaim is done performing.

“Oh!” she says in surprise when she notices him standing there. “Oh, you’re – you’re Micchy’s brother, right?”

She is so tiny. Takatora feels like a giant, towering above her, wondering how a human this small had won the final battle. Had changed so many hearts, so many lives.

“I am,” he says with an attempt at a smile. It’s so informal, out on the streets, surrounded by ordinary people. He’s too used to being professional, being privileged, being far away from them. “I… came to see your team dance.”

Mai smiles at him. This reminds him of Kouta, too – in fact, the two of them are uncannily similar now that he’s standing here looking at her. “Did you like it?”

“I – yes,” he says, not sure how exactly to give feedback on a dance performance. “It was – it was very good. I actually wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me for what?”

“For…” For forgiving my brother, when you had no reason to do so. For saving the world – my world – when I couldn’t. For whatever it is that you did that helped Zawame, and Mitsuzane, and Kouta survive the war. “For helping.”

Mai looks out at the crowd scattering around them, waiting for the next performance, and smiles again. “It’s my city,” she tells him. “You don’t have to thank me. I want Zawame to be happy again.”

There’s an undercurrent of – something else, to her soft words. Resentment, maybe. Or possessiveness. Over the city, over –

And now he remembers her last name. Mai Takatsukasa, daughter of the priest. The tree that Yggdrasil had stolen. The shrine they had taken apart for their research. He knows, distantly, how many lives his company had ruined when they’d transplanted their base of operations to Zawame City, but looking at her now –

He regrets it. The words slip out before he can stop them: “I’m sorry.”

Mai glances at him sharply. “Sorry?”

Takatora bows his head, studying the pavement beneath them. They’ve been walking, away from the stage so as not to distract the performers setting up. “I made a lot of mistakes at Yggdrasil. And you are one of the people who suffered the most for it. So, I’m sorry.”

Mai looks at him, really looks at him, and Takatora stops under the weight of her gaze. She is disarming in how quietly powerful she is, the disconnect between her tiny stature and the way her look makes him feel – like he’s being judged, and found wanting.

He has the ridiculous urge to beg her for forgiveness, and thinks, briefly, that if this is how Mitsuzane feels all the time around them, no wonder he can’t talk to them.

“Thank you,” she says finally. One way she’s different from Kouta – he would have waved the apology off. Forgiveness is his second tongue. Mai is forgiving, yes, but he thinks she appreciates his regret more.

“Can I ask,” he asks, carefully, after they’ve walked a few more paces away to be more secluded, “what exactly happened, in the battle?”

Mai crosses her arms, but it’s not a defensive position. She just looks thoughtful now, as she surveys him. Wondering if he’s fit to know the truth.

“I was given the golden fruit,” she tells him. He’d garnered that much already from his brother, but it’s nice to have it confirmed. “Kaito and Kouta fought for it. Kouta won.”

“What happened to the fruit?” he asks, almost afraid of the answer.

A small smile twists her lips. “We used it to destroy the gods.”

Takatora stares at her, eyes wide.

Mai continues, head lifted up in defiance. “Sagara told us that we could only save the world by destroying it. Creation comes from destruction. Salvation comes from sin. But Kouta and I – we didn’t want to destroy the Earth, and rule over ruins.”

“Rule…” Takatora repeats.

“Yes, rule,” Mai says with a sigh that seems too old for her body. “What an awful thing to ask of us. We never wanted to be gods. So, Kouta said, if we have to destroy something to save the world, we should destroy what tried to ruin it in the first place.”

“Sagara?” Takatora asks, frowning.

“Helheim,” she clarifies. “Which is Sagara, yes. I gave him the golden fruit and he used it to end him – end Helheim’s reign. All the Inves, the Overlords, the cracks – everything was wiped out. Like the forest never existed. And without the forest that bore the fruit…”

“The fruit was nothing,” he says in realization. “You two gave up the Fruit of Knowledge.”

“It’s gone,” Mai confirms, looking out at the city rising above them. “It’ll never wreak its havoc on us, or any other species, ever again. That fruit – it killed Kaito. It took so much from us. Hase, Yuuya… you, almost. Ruined our friendships. Our city, our country… the world is better off without it.”

She is so small before the skyscrapes of Yggdrasil, and yet, so much bigger than them all. Takatora watches her in wonder for a moment, trying to imagine how much power she had held in her hands, and given up. Wondering if he would have had the strength of will to do the same.

“Thank you,” he says again, because it seems the only appropriate thing to say. “We all owe you and Kouta a great debt.”

Mai looks at him and smiles, light coming back to her eyes. “If you want to repay that debt… he’s here now,” she says, jerking her head back towards the stage. “And he likes talking to you.”

Takatora tries very hard to filter the words before they come out of his mouth, but “He does?” slips out anyway.

Mai laughs. “Go on. He’s been waiting for you to show up.”

She turns him in the direction of the stage and points out where Kouta is standing, laughing as he talks to one of the Baron dancers. His hair is in disarray from the wind, and he’s wearing his Team Gaim hoodie – he looks so normal. Takatora is struck by it again, that Kouta had had the power of a god, and given it up for this. To save them. To be here.

Kouta catches his eye, and his smile widens immediately. He lifts a hand to wave, and Takatora has to stop himself from waving back, since he’s already walking closer.

When he remembers to glance back at Mai, she smiles at him. A little sad, just around the edges, but still smiling. Still happy. She’d lost Kaito Kumon but she was still dancing.

Takatora can’t help but think that Kaito would be proud of her strength. And maybe that’s what keeps her going – keeps Kouta going, too.

He’s glad for it, whatever it is, that made the two of them love this place so much they gave up divinity to be here. For whatever makes Zawame City worth it for them.

.

“Mai told me what happened,” he tells Kouta later, the two of them drinking coffee from Charmant out by the bay.

The sun is sinking warmth into the water, the sky tinted orange and yellow. It’s a beautiful sight, but he still finds his attention focused on the way Kouta looks in the light instead. Kouta glances at him, but it’s hard to gauge his expression.

“About the battle?” he asks, and Takatora nods. “You seem like you still have questions.”

For all his obliviousness, Kouta is perceptive when he wants to be. Takatora sets down the coffee on the railing and glances sidelong at Kouta.

“Why did you do it?” he asks. “Give all of that up for us… all that power, the whole world – ”

“Power for the sake of power is nothing,” Kouta tells him with a shrug. “Even Kaito knew that. I’m sure we could have done something else – sent the forest somewhere else, created a new world and left you to yours, but… I didn’t want to rule. And neither did Mai. We’re – ” He cuts himself off with an odd laugh and runs a hand through his hair. “God… we were kids. We were just kids.”

The sadness is overwhelming, all of a sudden. Takatora feels like it like a knife in his guts. Kouta looks out over the sea, frown lines on his face, and he seems so young and old at the same time. Everything he’s been through has made him so much older, stronger, wiser – but he’s still only twenty-one and loved to dance, once.

Takatora can’t imagine that choice, at that age. He can barely fathom making it now. Divinity or humanity? He had gladly stepped into the world of Helheim, taken that first driver, built himself into something important. Kouta had stumbled upon it, and ended up here.

“It was the only choice to make,” Kouta says finally, glancing back up at him. “It’s not what Sagara wanted, and it’s not what a lot of other people would have done, but it was the only thing that made sense to us. Destroy the fruit, give up the power, and come home.”

“You could have done anything with that power,” Takatora says softly, running his thumb around his coffee cup. “Could’ve been anything. But you stayed.”

“Of course we stayed.” Kouta Kazuraba has always been a remarkable person, but never more so than now, his smile bright enough to be blinding even as he speaks of his own mortality. “We make our own fate. That’s what makes us human.”

Maybe it’s the way Kouta looks with the sunlight slanting over him, dark hair ruffled by the wind and his skin glowing gold, or maybe it’s the way Kouta looks at him, warm and honest, like being a human – being here – is the best thing in the world, the only thing that matters, and maybe it _is_ the only thing that matters –

Whatever it is, Takatora can’t help his hand moving up to press lightly against Kouta’s cheek, or the way his heart flips over when Kouta’s eyes close and his lips part, a soft breath escaping him.

He makes a choice – so many of his had been misguided, or just plain wrong, or ill-fated, but not this one. If all they have are choices, he’s going to make the right ones from now on.

And Kouta Kazuraba might be the best choice he’s made yet.

Takatora closes the distance between them, marveling a little at how easy this is, how quickly Kouta catches on and kisses him back. How electric the kiss is, how it sends shivers down his spine.

How much he’s wanted this and for so long, without letting himself admit it. How good it feels to let himself want something for himself, and not out of duty.

Kouta curls his fingers into his shirt, anchoring him there even when they part. Not that Takatora was about to move, anyway. Kouta smiles up at him, brilliant as ever, and his heart feels light for the first time in ages.

“Does this mean you’re going to come to more dance shows?”

Takatora laughs. “I’ll think about it,” he says, which, with Kouta, means _yes_.

“Good,” Kouta says, and leans up to kiss him again. Over the horizon, the sun disappears, but it doesn’t feel like the light is gone at all. It remains, somehow preserved, between the press of their bodies and the beat of their hearts.


End file.
